Mama Bear
by Fourthirtyam
Summary: A hostage puts Hogan and the operation in jeopardy.
1. Chapter 1: A Bedtime Story

The staff car pulled into the compound, stopping just short of the Kommandant's office.

Corporal Louis LeBeau leaned against the barracks wall, watching as Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo jumped out of the driver's seat and ran around to the passenger's side, pulling the car door open with a flourish and ushering the woman who sat there outside.

LeBeau straightened up as he noticed that the woman was handcuffed. Hochstetter, he realized, seemed more than usually ebullient as he led the prisoner up the concrete steps and past Colonel Klink, who stood fawning in the doorway.

"I wonder who she is?" LeBeau asked his fellow barracks lounger.

"And what she's done," Corporal Newkirk replied. "Bit of an older bird, isn't she?"

"Not a _jeune fille_ , certainly," LeBeau said. "We should go tell the Colonel, _non_?"

"He's in the barracks. Let's go."

Colonel Robert E. Hogan sat up on his bunk, reading. It was a rare moment of relaxation for him – he hadn't had a break from operations in at least three weeks. But in that time, the unit he commanded had blown up two bridges, derailed a special train with its payload of ammunition bound for the Eastern Front, relayed a critical message to the Underground, convinced a Nazi scientist to defect along with his blueprints of a chemical compound that could be used as a replacement for airplane fuel, and assisted an impressive number of POW escapees from the surrounding camps to return to England. As ranking officer at Stalag 13, several duties called for his attention, and he felt a little guilty ignoring them. But his nerves were stretched to near the breaking point – there had been more than the usual number of close calls lately – and he was choosing to relax by escaping into one of his favorite novels, _The Scarlet Pimpernel_.

So it was with reluctance that he looked up as LeBeau and Newkirk barged into his room. In the close confines of the camp, it often felt like his private room was the only privilege that his rank allowed him. Swallowing down his annoyance, he reminded himself that, unlike him, all of his men had to live atop one other, forced to grow used to each other's aggravating habits, the snores at night, the laundry dangling down over their bunks. Never one to stand on rank, he would let the small discourtesy go unremarked yet again.

"What's up, fellas?" he asked, putting a finger in the book.

"Dunno, Colonel," said Newkirk. "Hochstetter just arrived, bringing an older bird into camp. In handcuffs."

"Is she one of ours?" Hogan asked. "From the Resistance?"

LeBeau shook his head. "We don't know her, Colonel."

"Perhaps someone working as a rogue agent against the Nazis. I suppose we'd better listen in." Hogan neatly put a bookmark into his novel and placed it under his pillow, jumping down with a smooth motion. "Where's Kinch and Carter?"  
"I'm here, Colonel." Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe stood in the doorway. "Do you want me to get Andrew? He's in the tunnel, testing some ordinance."

"And we haven't all been blown up yet?" Newkirk rejoined, grinning. "Blimey."

"I guess we don't need him," Hogan said. "Kinch, get out the coffee pot, would you?"

Kinch reached under the large table in the middle of the room and pulled out the battered coffee pot where he had hidden an amplifier, connected to a microphone concealed in a portrait of Hitler in Klink's office. He was about to connect it when they all heard the bang of the outer door and a loud voice calling.

"Colonel Hogan? Where is Colonel Hogan?"

"Schultz. What does he want?" Hogan asked. Gesturing to Kinch to stow the coffee pot, he called out, "Schultz? You need me?"

The obese German sergeant of the guards waddled into the room, his bulk pushing Kinch and Newkirk back. LeBeau laughed and patted the fat man's stomach.

"I'm going to have to cut back on your strudel allowance, Schultzie. You barely can make it through the door," he said.

"Jolly Joker," the guard grumbled. "Be nice, cockroach."

"What do you want, Schultz?" Hogan asked, grinning. "We were busy planning the assassination of the…" he let his voice drift off. "I mean – never mind."

"What…?!" Schultz looked around, horrified. "Who are you planning on assassinating?"

"You know, Schultzie," Newkirk said, putting a finger sideways over his upper lip and throwing his head back. " _That_ bloke."

"That's not funny, even for you boys," Schultz whispered, looking around furtively.

"But just think, Schultz – if we got him, the war would be over," Kinch added in a soothing voice. "You could go back home to your toy factory."

" _Nein!_ Treason! I won't listen!" Schultz said, putting his hands over his ears.

The men waited for the guard's usual refrain of "I hear nothing…" but Schultz suddenly seemed to remember what he came in for. "Colonel Hogan, the big man wants to see you in his office, right away," he said, putting his hands down. He paused for a moment, looked at the floor, then said, sounding completely sincere, "I'm sorry."

The men looked at one another, confused. "What are you sorry for, Schultz?" Hogan asked.

Schultz just shook his head. Newkirk persisted, "Does it have something to do with that Frau we saw Hochstetter drive into camp?"

"I cannot tell you," Schultz said, looking truly troubled. "They're waiting for you, Colonel. Come along, now."

Hogan shrugged, reaching for his cap. "I'm sorry to miss the coffee clatch," he said, looking at Kinch, who served as his second-in-command.

"We'll save a cup for you, Colonel." Kinch nodded.

"Let's go, then, Schultz," Hogan said, pulling his coat collar up around his ears.

As Hogan and Schultz made their way across the compound, another command car came barreling by, pulling up to Klink's door. Hogan was surprised to see General Burkhalter ease his hefty frame out from the back. Hogan stopped and threw the general an ironic salute.

"Ah, Hogan! I haven't missed it, then," Burkhalter said.

"Missed it, General?" Hogan was mystified.

Schultz heaved a heavy sigh.

Klink burst out of the door, clicking his heels together and saluting with a flourish. "General Burkhalter," he gushed. "Always a pleasure to have you visit our little Stalag. And on this occasion, especially…."

"Yes, yes, Klink. Let's go in – it's cold out here," Burkhalter replied.

The commandant threw open the door, standing to one side to let the sizable general by. Hogan followed him in, then Schultz, whose stomach caught Klink's midsection, nearly toppling him off the stairs.

"Clumsy oaf!" Klink hissed.

"Klink!" Burkhalter bellowed from within. "Get in here!"

Hogan stood in the antechamber before Klink's office. "You wanted to see me, Kommandant?"

"Go inside, Hogan," Klink told him. Hogan, a master at reading the German officer's moods, was surprised at how subdued he sounded. Behind him, Schultz sighed again.

Hogan entered the office, finding Hochstetter sitting behind Klink's desk. This was no shock, as Hochstetter took every opportunity he could to displace Klink. Hogan knew that the Gestapo was eager to take over the Luft stalags, where Army air corps prisoners of war were housed. Hogan was grateful to Burkhalter and the rest of the German air command for blocking every move the Gestapo made to try and seize control of the camps. If they'd succeeded, it would have rendered Hogan's operation virtually impossible.

"Ah! Colonel Hogan!" Hochsetter chirped in a tone that Hogan recognized as both gloating and dangerous. "Sit down, sit down! Can I offer you a drink? A cigar?" The major audaciously picked up the humidor that sat on Klink's desk and tilted it toward Hogan.

Hogan knew he had no choice but to play along. As he extracted a cigar from the box – listening to Klink's predictable mutter of annoyance – he glanced around the room. The expressions he saw on the other three Germans were unsettling. Burkhalter looked impassive, Klink uneasy, his hands fluttering the way they did whenever he was upset, and Schultz's fat face was drawn in oddly miserable lines.

Hochstetter took a cigar for himself and, using Klink's ornate lighter, lit it. Puffing contentedly, he offered the flame to Hogan. Hogan, realizing he needed to take control of a situation that seemed to be spinning in a direction he couldn't follow, pocketed the cigar instead. "Thanks, Major. I'll smoke it later."

Hochstetter grinned, putting the lighter down. "As you wish," he said, almost purring.

Burkhalter, who had wedged himself on one of Klink's visitor chairs, glared at him. "Let's get on with it, shall we, Major?"

"Certainly, General. I just wanted to make sure our – guest – was comfortable." Hochstetter put his cigar out and turned to Hogan, smiling his widest alligator smile. "We've had quite a few security incidents occur around the vicinity of Stalag 13 recently, haven't we?"

Hogan waited a beat before replying. "Oh, you're speaking to me, Major? I'm sorry – have you? I wouldn't know."

"How could you, after all?" blustered Klink. "Hogan is a prisoner of war, Major. He only knows what I tell him, and I…."

"I know exactly who and what Colonel Hogan is, Klink," Hochstetter said impatiently. "He may have fooled you, and may even have fooled the General, but he hasn't fooled me."

"Really?" Hogan drawled. He felt back on firmer footing – they had had this precise exchange dozens of times before. Hochstetter would claim that Hogan was "the most dangerous man in all of Germany," Klink would pooh-pooh the idea, usually arguing his perfect no-escape record as evidence, and Burkhalter would swat them both down. "Who am I, then, Major?"

"Bah!" Hochstetter growled, his good humor seemingly dissipated. But then he seemed to recall something and his face lit up. "As I was saying, we have had quite a few security incidents around here, Colonel Hogan. Bridges, trains, escaped prisoners…."

"No one from Stalag 13, though!" Klink was quick to interrupt. "We've never had…."

"Shut up, Klink – we know all about your perfect record," Burkhalter snapped.

Hogan could almost sympathize with the general. Klink was a broken record on the subject of his unbroken record.

"As I was saying," Hochstetter continued, glaring at Klink, "a lot of activity – and all of it close by Stalag 13."

"That's fascinating, Major," Hogan said. "Simply fascinating." He wondered if his men had grown as bored as he felt and had shut off the coffee pot. Part of him hoped so.

"Argh, this again?" LeBeau said. "Turn it off, Kinch. If this is all they're going to talk about…."

"Yes, but what about the woman you said they brought in? She doesn't seem to figure in this at all," Kinch replied. "And the colonel wanted us to listen in."

"What woman?" Sergeant Andrew Carter stood in the doorway. "What's going on?"

They quickly explained it to him, and he slouched into the room, rubbing his hands together. "Boy, its cold down there in the tunnel," he complained. "Too bad that coffee pot doesn't make real coffee. I could use a cup."

"I'll get you one," LeBeau volunteered, rising and moving swiftly into the larger outer room where the real coffee pot perpetually stood. He returned in a moment, handing a mug to Carter, who took a deep slug and grimaced.

"Burnt, as usual," he said. He looked sorrowfully into the cup, shrugged, and drank again.

"So you know," Hochstetter's voice picked up, "we thought we needed to do something about all of these security problems we're having."

"Really?" Hogan said, his voice jovial. "Sounds like a good idea, Major. Do let me know if I can help in any way."

There was an odd silence, then the major said, "Oh, I will, Colonel. I will. But first – I have to tell you a little story."

"Shoot, what's he up to?" Carter asked, sitting down at the table and finishing the coffee.

"Oh, I love a story," Hogan said. "A good bedtime story is one of my favorites."

"I'm sure your _Mutter_ used to tell you a lot of them, didn't she?" Hochstetter asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he added, "You're going to simply love this one."

As the men waited, the major took an audible breath of air. "Colonel Hogan, in fighting this war, the glorious Third Reich has discovered several alternative modes of warfare. Things that your Geneva Convention doesn't always approve of."

"Like torture, he means," LeBeau said, glumly.

The men looked at one another, uneasy.

"One of our methods is a simple one. We take the loved ones of reluctant allies – mainly the French, but even some of our own people – and we hold them as a guarantee of good, shall we say – behavior."

"As hostages," Hogan said. His voice didn't tremble – it would take more than obscure threats for the Colonel to break – but his men could tell he was perturbed.

"An ugly word, hostages," Hochstetter continued smoothly. "We prefer to think of them as guests of the Third Reich."

"Well, this is a fascinating story, but I'm pretty sure you're not going to put the Brothers Grimm out of business," Hogan said. The men hear the scraping of a chair. "If that's all you wanted to say to me, Major…."

"Sit back down, Hogan!" Hochstetter barked. "Schultz – bring in our…" a cold moment of silence was followed by a gloating, "…guest."

"Yes, Major," Schultz said, sounding morose.

"The woman?" Kinch asked.

The others waited, the tension in the room palpable.

"Colonel Hogan, I'm sure you know…." Hochstetter started, but then Hogan yelled, in a tone that the men had never heard him use before – a tone ominous in its deep, sincere, and furious quality of threat: "Hochstetter, you're a dead man! You hear me? A dead man!"


	2. Chapter 2: A Grimm Tale

The men looked at one another, confused and upset. Then the colonel said again, if possible, with even more menace this time: "Hochstetter, if it takes me the rest of the war – or afterwards – I'll hunt you down for this and kill you."

The men had thought they'd heard every possible intonation of the colonel's voice. They knew when he was stressed by the way his voice would rise, how he would complain in a whine when headquarters in London would make an impossible request of them. They knew when he was fully in control, enjoying watching a con he'd concocted play out by the slight laugh in his voice, the chuckle he'd hold back. They knew when he was fully engaged in an operation, every cylinder of his astonishing, supple brain clicking, by his deep absorption, his serious cadences. And they even knew when he was attracted to a woman by his dropping into even deeper octaves, a soothing, caressing sound that rarely failed to persuade the fairer sex.

They'd never heard him sound like this before and it shook them to their core.

"What the hell?" Kinch exclaimed, voicing what they all felt.

"You, kill me?" Hochstetter laughed mockingly. "I'm the one with all the guns and the guards, Colonel Hogan. And I'm the one holding…"

The men heard a scuffle, the clamor of someone bursting out of a chair, scrambling across the room. "Guards!" squeaked a suddenly frantic Hochstetter, sounding like someone was squeezing his windpipe.

"Colonel Hogan!" cried an aghast Klink.

"Hogan, stop this instant! Or I'll order them to shoot!" barked Burkhalter.

The men stared at one another.

"Hochstetter! I will kill you!" Hogan cried again, spitting out every word.

"He means it," Newkirk said, wonderingly. "Blimey."

The melee continued as Hogan continued to scream threats. Then, suddenly, a woman's voice cut serenely across the confusion. "Robert Edward Hogan, you just stop that. Stop that right now."

Immediate silence.

The men couldn't find words. They sat there, open-mouthed, waiting. Finally, Carter piped up. "I think she knows him."

"Hush, Carter," Kinch said, leaning forward to listen more closely.

"Yes, but did you know the colonel's middle name was Edward? I didn't know that. I mean we all knew there was an E. Colonel Robert E. Hogan. It's on his jacket and he says it all the time. Whenever he introduces himself. Right? But I didn't know the E stood for Edward. Did any of you know that?" Carter persisted.

"Shut up, Carter," Newkirk cried.

Carter subsided, but he didn't look satisfied.

For a long moment, all the men heard was the sound of heavy breathing, as if Hogan were trying to recover from his mad dash, his furious attack. Hochstetter chuckled deep in his throat and LeBeau's fingers curled into fists.

"That's better," Burkhalter said. "You appear to have a much better command over Hogan than we do, _meine liebe dame_. I suppose that's only to be expected."

There was no answer.

Hochstetter chimed in, gleefully, "I can see I do not need to introduce you to the newest guest of the Third Reich, Colonel Hogan – our guarantee that the attacks around Stalag 13 will grind to a halt."

"I doubt that very much, Major," the woman said, her words cold and precise. "If Robert is doing what you claim he is, he knows better than to let me stop him."

There was another pause. Then Hogan said in a strangled voice, "It's okay, Mom. Don't say anything else."


	3. Chapter 3: Mama Bear

The men gasped. "Mom?" Kinch exclaimed.

"They kidnapped the colonel's _maman_." LeBeau's face was pale with fury, rising and pacing the room. "Does the Boche stop at nothing?"

"No wonder the guv'nor was about to kill that black-hearted bastard," Newkirk muttered. "Let me at him, that's all I say."

"I could put a bomb in his car when he drives out of here," Carter volunteered eagerly.

"And if the Colonel's mum is in that car?" Newkirk snapped at him, impatient.

"No one's doing anything until we know what's going on," Kinch said. "Shut up, all of you, and listen."

HH-HH-HH

Hogan, who had been forcibly re-seated by a guard, had the muzzle of a rifle pointed right at his chest as he stared at his mother. It had been years since he'd seen her – he'd volunteered for duty in England long before the States had entered the war, and he'd never managed to get home on leave – and she'd turned gray and more wrinkled than he remembered. It was torture being kept back like this, not being able to hug her, to hold onto her, to have her hold him.

"Mom. Did they hurt you?" he asked, looking around the guard with the gun. "How in the world did they capture you?"

"I'm fine, Rob," she said calmly. "And I might ask you the same question."

Hogan felt himself relax just a bit. He had managed to swallow back the overwhelming fury that had consumed him when he first saw his mother enter the room, realizing that Hochstetter meant to use her as a hostage, to hurt – even torture – her if Hogan didn't comply. He knew he had to quickly reinhabit the persona that he'd lived for the last few years, that of the cowed, glib POW. He flinched a little inside, not wanting to show this pretend self to his mother. His parents – living safely, as he'd thought, all the way in Connecticut – didn't know the truth. It would be too dangerous in case one of them slipped. He'd regretted that he'd had to play this game in front of them, that his letters had to include the damning facts that he was a prisoner of war, that no, he still had not managed to escape, that he was living in terrible conditions with little or no hope of getting out before the end of the war. He was sure that his continued imprisonment confused them, knowing him as they did. Perhaps they had guessed something close to the truth. Well, now his mom would know.

"I'm fine," he answered brusquely.

"I've never seen him lash out like that," Klink said wonderingly. "Usually your son is such a good little prisoner of war, Frau Hogan."

Hogan bit the inside of his lip, wanting to flog the smug German. He let his head hang down, looking up at his mom from under lowered eyes, wondering how she would take that. He saw her eyebrows rise quizzically, but she heeded his warning and said nothing.

Hochstetter, his face wreathed in smiles, straightened himself and adjusted his black uniform jacket with a quick tug. "So, Colonel Hogan, let me spell this out for you so there is no mistake. Your mother is our prisoner – our hostage, since you seem to prefer that ugly phrase – and will be kept in a secure location. All activities around Stalag 13 will stop, and I mean stop immediately. If they do not – well, you know first-hand what we do to people who do not obey us, don't you?"

Hogan let his head drop even lower. "I do know," he said. Then he raised his eyes to pierce Hochstetter's and said, "But I'm not responsible for anything outside of this camp, Major. So I don't know what you expect me to do."

Hochstetter snickered. "I expect you to stop pretending, Colonel Hogan. Frau Hogan, I want you to know that your son is…"

Here it comes, thought Hogan.

"…the most dangerous man in all of Germany. In a way, you are to be congratulated. You have raised a son who has inflicted more damage on the Third Reich than entire companies of soldiers."

"If that were only true," Mrs. Hogan said, dryly, "I would indeed be proud."

Hogan had to admire how quickly his mom had picked up on the cues. She was admitting nothing – but also letting him know that she understood he had to play this game. The knot in his chest loosened a little.

"Would the generosity of the Third Reich," Hogan ventured, forcing himself to sound timid and nervous, "give a man who hasn't seen his mother in several years a moment or two alone with her?"

"And perhaps also remove these handcuffs?" Mrs. Hogan said, lifting her secured arms. "I'm certainly not going to escape from this camp. Not if my son hasn't managed it for so many years."

She flickered an eyelid at Hogan, who smiled thinly back at her.

"Indeed, Frau Hogan!" Klink preened himself, sticking his chest out proudly. "No one ever escapes from Stalag 13!"

"We call him the Iron Colonel," Hogan nodded. "I've written you that, haven't I, Mom?"

"You have," she said, looking at him with narrowed eyes and then turning to Klink. "I'm sure the Iron Colonel isn't afraid of letting a little old lady free of handcuffs, now."

"Schultz, remove the handcuffs!" Klink ordered.

"Schultz, don't move a muscle!" Hochstetter fired back. "I'm not taking any chances. After all, she's _his_ mother."

"Oh, come now, Major," Burkhalter said, shaking his heavy jowls. "What do you think she's going to do? Disappear into thin air? Schultz, go ahead."

"As you command, Herr General!" Schultz said, moving toward Mrs. Hogan. "If you would put out your hands, _gnadige frau_."

"So you're Sergeant Schultz!" Mrs. Hogan said, extending her wrists so Schultz would unlock the cuffs. "My son has written me so much about you, about how good you are to the prisoners!"

"Really?" Klink said, his eyes narrowing. "Good?"

"But not too good, right, Mom?" Hogan said hastily.

"Well, of course I mean good for a despicable German guard," Mrs. Hogan added, rubbing her wrists.

Hogan saw that they were bleeding and clamped down on the fury that rose in him once more.

Burkhalter snorted. "It's easy to see where Hogan inherited his quick tongue, Frau Hogan."

"So, can I have a moment or two alone with my mother, General?" Hogan asked again, knowing his best chance was to appeal to the highest ranking officer in the room. While Burkhalter wasn't as sentimental as Klink, he had his softer side. "It has been a long time."

"General, you mustn't allow…" Hochstetter started, but Burkhalter put up a hand.

"A few moments – and not alone. The _gut_ Sergeant Schultz will stay in the room with you. Klink, let them use your quarters for – 10 minutes enough, Hogan?"

"I'll take what I can get," Hogan replied. "Thank you, sir."

He threw a salute at the General and the Commandant, ignoring Hochstetter entirely, then let Schultz lead them out of the room and into Klink's adjacent quarters.


	4. Chapter 4: Thinking Like Papa Bear

"I'll stand over here in the corner," Schultz said, moving so he could see Hogan and his mother, but still remain unobtrusive.

"Schultz, I really do need you hear nothing and see nothing. Okay? There's a fresh batch of strudel in it for you," Hogan murmured.

"Now, Colonel Hogan, you know I have to report…"

"And some candy bars. The Red Cross packages are due this week. You can have all of our candy bars."

"All of them?" Schultz's eyes widened.

"All of them," Hogan said, turning to his mother.

She took a step toward him, opening her arms wide. He moved swiftly into them, breathing in her distinctive scent. She always used a lilac fragrance, something his father gave her every birthday and Mother's Day. The smell transported him momentarily back home, to her garden and kitchen. Then the thought of his father made him ask, "Does Dad know where you are?"

Her head hung against his broad chest. "No," she whispered. "They took me…"

He stepped out of her embrace and led her to Klink's sofa, settling himself down next to her, taking her hand in both of his, lightly touching her bruised wrist. "From home? All the way in America? They dared?"

"No, not from home," she said. "From London."

That made more sense. "Why were you in London?"

"They asked your father to come over and do a time study on a munitions factory there. You know he's been working nonstop since the war started."

Hogan's father was a time-study man, and the news didn't surprise him. Both of his parents' letters were full of John Hogan's work, relayed in the most general of terms so that they betrayed nothing to the Germans as the letter traveled through the Allied censors to the Red Cross, and then to Stalag 13.

"So you decided to go with him this time?"

Emily Hogan nodded. "You know I do a lot of the work with him, recording his findings, conducting interviews. Usually that's just for the studies in the States. But I said I wanted to come this time." She put her head on her son's shoulder. "He always said it made him feel closer to you, to be on the same continent. I wanted to feel that, too."

Hogan shut his eyes. But not this way, he thought. Not this close.

"So, some German agents took you? When?"

Emily Hogan sighed. "I felt claustrophobic during the black out. All the curtains pulled tight the moment the sun went down. I thought the walls were closing in on me. So I told your father I was going to take a walk." She sighed. "He argued with me about it. The last thing I said to him was to go to hell."

Hogan couldn't help but smile at that. He was used to his parents' fiery arguments, to their intense battles of wits. He knew it didn't affect their deep, loving relationship. But his mother had never been content with the usual woman's stay-at-home role. She'd insisted on a role, working with his father, long before they married. John Hogan, who didn't want a complacent wife, considered her a full partner in the business. He was proud of the fact that she was probably smarter than he was – and he was plenty smart. Their son had always been proud of that fact, too.

"So they grabbed you when you were out walking. How did they even know you were there?"

Emily closed her eyes. "I've been wracking my brain on that one, son. And the only thing I can come up with is my last letter – to you."

"To me?" A lump formed in his throat.

"I mentioned that I was going to travel with your father. I didn't say where or even when, but his schedule is probably easy enough to discern. If you look hard enough."

"So they probably couldn't believe their luck when you went out walking on your own. In the dark, no less. Did they hurt you, Mom?"

She pulled her head up and looked at him. "Not terribly. Nothing I won't recover from. But listen, son, this is important. You're not to worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Not worry about you? Just how do you think I'll be able to pull _that_ off?"

She lowered her voice. "Is what the Gestapo major telling me true? Is that what you've been doing here?"

Hogan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He couldn't tell her right then – not with Schultz pretending altogether too hard not to listen in the corner. As much as Schultz chose to ignore most of the strange goings-on around camp, he wouldn't be able to wink at the full truth.

"No candy for you, Schultz!" he called out.

The sergeant whirled around. "Colonel Hogan, but you said…"

"I saw you listening, Schultzie. If you can't keep your side of the bargain, why should I keep mine?"

Disappointment shaded the sergeant's face. "But…"

Klink stood at the door. "Time is up, Colonel Hogan."

HH-HH-HH

Klink's quarters were out of earshot for the men. They had often talked about bugging it, but just hadn't managed it yet. But while they wished they could be a fly on the wall at this meeting between their commander and his mother, Kinch kept the coffee pot on, wondering what the three German officers were going to say to one another once Hogan was out of the room.

"I've never seen Hogan lose it like that," Burkhalter said slowly. "Even if your absurd theory about his role in the underground is wrong, Major, you've still given us a valuable tool with which to control him."

Newkirk growled audibly, and LeBeau let out a string of fluent French obscenities under his breath.

"You are a brilliant tactician and strategist, General," Hochstetter said, his tones at first flattering, then flattening out sarcastically as he added, "but you have been hoodwinked by the man's charm and guile. He is truly…."

"…the most dangerous man in all of Germany," Burkhalter sighed. "You have said so enough times, Major. Don't you think I've considered it? But it's simply not possible."

"Operating out of Stalag 13?" Klink chimed in, eagerly. "Out of the bonds of steel that I've thrown around this camp? The general's right. Impossible."

"Bah!" Hochstetter snapped. "You will both see. There will be an immediate cessation of hostilities around this camp – not because of any bonds of steel, Klink, but because _I_ have taken the upper hand."

Kinch felt as though there was ground glass in his stomach. How was his commander going to continue to operate under these conditions? Kinch knew if it were someone in his family – his parents or sister – he'd crack under the strain. Colonel Hogan was the strongest, smartest, most capable man he knew, but no one could withstand this kind of pressure. Did this spell the end of the operation? As much as Kinch longed to go back to the comforts of home – and he knew every man in Stalag 13 felt the same – they were making a difference to the war effort. Could it all crumple to nothing because Hochstetter had outwitted the Colonel at last?

But Kinch knew better than to let the others see his concern. Hogan trusted him to be the cool head in his absence – had given him a chance to be second-in-command when so many other white officers would see right past him. Hogan had told Kinch more than once that he was officer material, that the Army air corps should have seen his potential. In many ways, Hogan had given him a field promotion – unofficial, to be sure – but he made sure the other men treated him as a quasi-officer, despite the lack of actual rank. Kinch owed him. He wouldn't fail Hogan, not when the colonel needed him most.

"Where will you house her?" the general asked now.

"A top secret location – to remain unknown even to you, General," Hochstetter replied smugly. "But first I will take her to Gestapo headquarters in Berlin, to interrogate her."

The POWs exchanged agonized glances. LeBeau muttered in unintelligible French.

"Interrogate her?" Klink sounded startled. "She's a civilian. A housewife. What could she possibly tell you?"

"You're a fool, Klink," Burkhalter said, with a gusty sign. "Didn't you read the Major's report? Frau Hogan has been working with her husband in the States, making various weapons factories more efficient. There is much that she undoubtedly knows – much that we can learn from her." He paused for a moment, then added, "Will you tell Hogan your intentions, Major? He'll go ballistic."

Hochstetter laughed, and Kinch felt the fury of the other three men radiate toward him like a living thing. He clamped down on his own emotions, thinking hard.

"I haven't decided yet, General," was the response. "Though it is tempting – it would be so amusing. Which reminds me – Hogan's time with her is up."

"It hasn't been ten minutes yet," Klink said weakly.

"The time is up! Go get her!" Hochstetter barked.

"That bloody, evil, rotten…" Newkirk started.

Kinch threw a hand up. "We can't let them take her to be interrogated. Guys, we have to think like the colonel right now. How can we stop them?"

"What if we charged the office? Started a riot? Killed all three of them?" Newkirk said, rising from his seat.

Kinch put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Newkirk, all that's going to do is get us all shot – and probably her and the Colonel as well. We need to think like the colonel."

"He'd probably try and force the Major to leave without her," LeBeau said. "But how?"

"Yes – and Burkhalter too," Carter agreed. "So she had to stay in camp."

They all thought for a long moment.

"We could put sugar in all the engines, so nobody could leave," Carter suggested.

"They'd just call for another car to come collect them," Kinch replied. "Keep thinking."

"What if the Major were called away on an emergency – and the General?" Newkirk said. "A riot at another POW camp, maybe?"

"That's not a bad idea – but once they got there and discovered it was not real, they'd just turn around and come back," Kinch said.

"Well, I don't know, mate – we keep coming up with the ideas and you keep shooting them down," Newkirk grumbled.

"I know. Damn, we need the colonel for this. Think! We're on the right track." Kinch got up and stalked the room the colonel usually did when deep in thought. Finally, he stopped short. "We need the emergency to be far enough away that they'll have to leave her here for a few days. Overnight at least. What about if there was a break-out from Gestapo headquarters in Berlin? It would take them at least six hours to drive there. That would at least give us time to think this through with the colonel."

"You don't know what state the colonel is going to be in. Not with this hanging over him," cautioned LeBeau.

Kinch knew the Frenchman was right, but they had little choice. "One problem at a time," he said. "Newkirk, make a call from Berlin Gestapo headquarters and get Hochstetter on the line. Carter, you be a Gestapo general – General Carterhoff – and order Hochstetter to Berlin. Say there's been a major uprising in the prison there, that communications have been cut off and they're calling in every available officer. Get Burkhalter to go along, too."

"You betcha, boy," Carter said, his face mirroring his eagerness.


	5. Chapter 5: Outwitting the Big, Bad Wolf

Klink led both Hogan and his mother back into the office just as the phone rang. Klink reached for it, but Hochstetter got there first. "Major Hochstetter," he said, looking smugly at Klink's annoyed expression.

"That's my phone," Klink whined. "General Burkhalter, did you see that? That's my…"

"Oh, shut up, Klink," the General said wearily.

Hochstetter looked puzzled. "Who? General Carterhoff? He wants…I'm in the middle of a very…yes, yes, I understand. Put him on."

Hogan had to stop himself from perking up at the sound of the general's name. My boys are up to something, he realized.

"General Carterhoff?" Hochstetter straightened up. "This is Major…Heil Hitler!" He flung a hand up into the air. "Yes? What? What?!" Hochstetter put a hand over the receiver. "There's been an outbreak at Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin… Yes, General. Yes. Now? But I have a prisoner…" His face froze and he began nodding frantically. "Yes, General. At once, General. You want to talk to… right away, General!"

Hochstetter extended the phone toward Burkhalter. "He wants to talk to you."

"Carterhoff, Carterhoff… I don't think I…"

"You don't know General Carterhoff, the brains of the Gestapo in Berlin? The man they call Hitler's secret weapon?" Hogan chimed in, looking incredulous. "Major, _you_ know him, of course."

Hochstetter looked uncomfortable for a moment, then nodded briskly. "Of course, General Carterhoff. He is one of our top, top men in Berlin."

"Of course, he's only just been reassigned, General. Right, Major? Where was he before?"

"Never mind that," Burkhalter said, impatiently, turning to the phone. "General Burkhalter here, General. You wanted to speak with me?"

"Hansi!" Carter's Germanic voice sounded jubilantly over the line, loud enough so everyone could hear it. "How fortunate that you are there. You are just the man we need!"

Burkhalter, clearly flattered, straightened up.

Carter continued to bellow into the phone. "There is a terrible situation here in Berlin – the underground prisoners we captured last night managed to smuggle in weapons and stage a riot. Communications have been cut off – hundreds dead – the traitors have control. We need every available officer. Hochstetter must return at once to Berlin. You must come with him. We need you! _Ja_?"

"Yes, but General," Burkhalter began.

"What's this General nonsense, Hansi? Don't you know me? Adolf Carterhoff? Don't you remember meeting me at the Fuehrer's breakfast banquet last month?"

Nice touch, Andrew, Hogan thought. He never ceased to be amazed at how quickly his stumbling, bumbling sergeant could react, once he assumed a disguise.

"Yes, yes, of course, er, Adolf, but…"

"Listen, I can't stay on the line. They're breaking down the door!" A sudden banging could be heard. "You and Hochstetter must come at once. At once, you hear me? Or I'll have to tell our beloved Füehrer that you left me…"

The phone went dead.

"We must go at once," Hochstetter said, getting up. "Put Frau Hogan in the car, Schultz."

Hogan felt himself freeze. They couldn't take her. He wouldn't let them. But he simply couldn't think past his panic.

Burkhalter threw up a hand. "Are you an idiot, Major? We can't take her into an armed stand-off. What would we do with her while we're gaining control?" He swiveled around. "Klink! You will need to put her up for a night or two. Until we can sort out what is happening in Berlin."

"Of course, General. Luckily, the cooler is…."

Hogan thought he would lose control again. "You're not putting my mother in the cooler," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Rob…" Emily Hogan began. But the general interrupted her.

"Klink, you nincompoop! Frau Hogan is our prisoner, yes, but we need to treat her gently. With all due deference. Put her in your guest quarters."

Hogan stood and saluted the general, a sincere salute for once. "Thank you, sir," he said.

Burkhalter nodded. It was an unusual moment between the two officers, one of mutual respect. "Let's go, Major. We have a long trip ahead of us."

"Klink!" Hochstetter said, "you will post a guard around Frau Hogan and make sure she remains here until I return for her. If she escapes…I promise you, I will have your head."

"She won't escape, Major. Escape from Stalag 13? No one…"

"Bah!" cried Hochstetter, slamming his cap on his head and stalking out of the office.


	6. Chapter 6: A Fly in the Ointment

Hogan stormed into the barracks, walked straight past his men, ignoring their searching looks, and slammed the door to his office behind him.

"He just needs a little time," he overheard Kinch say as he leaned back against the door, breathing hard. "Leave him alone. How would you feel, if it was you?"

Closing his eyes, he thanked Kinch silently for understanding. He was still shaking, still in a state of shock. He couldn't face his men right then. As much as they'd understand – and he was sure they did – he couldn't go out there and act calm. Not yet, anyway.

He climbed up on his bunk, pulled his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. Just a few minutes, he told himself. That's all I need. He pulled the novel he'd been reading out from under his pillow. He remembered how his mother had suggested it to him, once he'd finished reading _A Tale of Two Cities_. His mother had, ever so gently, directed his reading when he was younger, suggesting books like _Treasure Island, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Peter Pan_. And she'd allowed him to sneak in the comics and the pulps that his father disapproved of, often slipping him an extra quarter for his chores and pretending that she had simply miscounted. His father had caught her at it once, and the ensuring argument had taken most of a week before she won him over. "We've taught him what right and wrong is, John," she'd finally proclaimed. "Let him read anything he wants."

The sudden memory galvanized Hogan into swinging himself off his bunk and out into the larger room. His men gathered around him, their faces anxious and careful. "Kinch," he said urgently, "we need to get a message to London. Have them tell my father – John Hogan – that she's safe."

"Will do, Colonel," Kinch nodded. "Will they know how to reach him?"

"My mother – you all heard, right?" At their nod, Hogan continued, "she said they were there to do work for a munitions factory. If German agents could figure out where they were staying, I'm sure London can."

"Right, Colonel," Kinch said, turning to head down to the tunnel. But Hogan put out a hand to stop him.

"That was quick thinking, stopping them from taking my mother," he said.

The men looked at one another in satisfaction, smiling.

"But I wonder if it just postponed the inevitable. We need her to escape, and it can't be from camp – or Hochstetter would just use it as proof that we're involved."

The smiles fell. Newkirk piped up, "Yes, but Colonel, there's something you don't know."

Hogan looked at him, eyebrows raised. Newkirk swallowed, clearly not wanting to be the one to tell him. Kinch stepped into the sudden silence. "I'm sorry, Colonel. They were going to bring her to Gestapo headquarters. To interrogate her."

"To…what?" Hogan's face paled.

"They want to find out what she knows about the various weapons factories in the States – and in London."

Hogan, flooded with nearly uncontrollable fury, couldn't answer. There was a fraught moment of silence, then Newkirk said, "I'm sorry, guv'nor. If it were my mum…."

Hogan closed his eyes for a quick moment, then put a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "Thank you," he muttered, then cleared his throat. "Thank all of you," he said more loudly. "I'm more grateful than I can say."

Embarrassed, the men looked at the floor or the wall.

Hogan felt a flush of shame as he recalled the first few minutes after they'd brought him mother into the room. "I know you all heard me lose control in there…" he began slowly.

"If it were my mum…" Newkirk repeated.

"We were all feeling the same, Colonel," Kinch assured him.

"I wanted to kill the dirty Boche with my bare hands if necessary," LeBeau said. "And if you still want to, Colonel, after your _maman_ is safe, you should know we're right behind you."

"I have a few grenades we could use," Carter chimed in, eagerly.

Hogan laughed, relieved he'd kept their respect. "All right," he said. "Kinch, get the message off to London, will you? And let them know we're going to have to lay low for awhile – until we can get her out of their hands. That's okay with you fellas, right?" He looked around.

They all nodded and he felt grateful to them yet again. Kinch went down the ladder into the tunnel. LeBeau turned to Hogan.

"What does your _maman_ like to eat, Colonel? I'm happy to prepare a special meal for her. After all, it's not every day you get to feed your commander's mother."

Hogan grinned. "She's not much on fancy food, I'm afraid, Louie. I don't suppose you could whip up some meatloaf and mashed potatoes, could you? That's the type of dinner she always served us at home."

"Meatloaf? _Qu'est-ce que_ meatloaf?" the French chef asked incredulously.

"It's chopped meat, which you mix up with egg and breadcrumbs and shape in a loaf pan and pour canned soup over," Carter explained. "Usually cream of mushroom soup. And then you bake it. Man oh man, I haven't had meatloaf in years, Colonel! You're making me miss our neighborhood diner back home, where I used to take Mary Lou for a milkshake after we went to the movies."

Hogan nodded. "I know what you mean, Andrew. Having my mother drop out of the clear blue sky has me missing home, too."

" _Sacrebleu_ , canned soup?" LeBeau muttered as he stalked off to figure out the meal. "Soup out of a tin?"

Newkirk turned to Hogan. "Is she okay, guv'ner? They didn't hurt her, did they?"

Hogan sobered. "She said not too badly. She said she was just exhausted and was going to catch up on some missed sleep. I'll see her at dinner." He looked around at their still-anxious faces and suddenly the situation seemed to catch up with him. "Guys, I'm going to go into my room for a bit. Let me know what London says."

Hogan sat up on his bunk, letting his mind go blank for a few moments. He knew he should be starting to plan how to free his mother from the Gestapo's clutches, but the shock of the last hour had rattled every logical thought out of his head. The idea that his mother was sleeping just across the compound felt surreal. He knew he wouldn't have a moment alone with her until after everyone was asleep that night. Hogan briefly toyed with the idea of sneaking over to the VIP hut and waking her up now, to explain things, but she had looked truly exhausted as she'd begged Klink to let her go to sleep for a bit. She'd be better able to take in everything he had to tell her after she'd gotten some rest.

As he sat there, his mind a whirl, there came a tentative knock on the door. "Come in," he called.

Kinch entered, with the others huddled behind him in the doorway. That told its own tale. Something was up.

"I got through to London, Colonel," Kinch said. "They said they'd relay the message to your father. Apparently, your mother's disappearance caused a bit of a ruckus. They were glad to have the mystery solved – though not the reason for it."

"Okay, that's good," Hogan said slowly. "What else did they have to say?"

Kinch moved in and handed up the clipboard he was holding. "They need us to go out on a mission. Tonight."

"Tonight?" Hogan croaked, sitting upright. "What part of 'my mother is being held hostage and we need to lay low for awhile' didn't they get?"

"Oh, they got it, sir. But there's an important mission on for tonight – and we need to help by taking out the electrical facility in Dusseldorf, along with the Rhenkniebrucke bridge. They need the entire area to be blacked out and to stop any transport over the Rhine." Kinch hesitated for a moment. "They did ask me to convey their sympathies."

"Oh, sure," Hogan said angrily, swinging himself down to ground level. "Like that's going to help either of us."

Hogan took hold of the clipboard and studied it, frowning. "They're saying they want to drop a unit of commandos for some kind of special top-secret mission. What, are they so unsatisfied with the quality of the service around here that they need to send in commandos?"

Kinch shrugged. "There's some kind of big push on, Colonel. They won't say what it is, but apparently our part is just one piece of the puzzle."

"And they can't delay it another couple of days?"

Kinch shook his head. "No, sir."

Hogan bit his lip. "And if I refuse?"

Kinch looked at the floor. "They said it was a direct order. From General Adams."

Hogan thought hard for a moment. Adams had been his _bête noir_ every since taking command of the operation in London. He pushed Hogan harder than anyone had ever done before, never thanked him or his men when they succeeded despite all the odds, and was the most unpleasant commander Hogan had ever served under. Hogan had complained, secretly, up the chain of command, but all of his friends in London and the Pentagon seemed unable to help him out – willing though they might be to do so. "Sorry, old boy," Air Marshall Andrews had told him only last week. "Adams seems to have some kind of an in with your president – there's no shifting him. You'll have to grin and bear it. Chin up and all that, I'm afraid."

That Adams was unsympathetic didn't surprise Hogan. But still, how could he go out and do this, knowing it would mean? The pain Hochstetter could inflict on his mother? She had told him point-blank to disregard her – but Hochstetter, damn him, knew he wouldn't be able to do that. Hogan wanted, more than anything, to end the man's existence. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the clipboard.

"Sir?" Kinch asked, his voice troubled. "I need to confirm the order."

Hogan studied the instructions again. While they were vague, the fact that commandos would be landing in the area meant the situation was already out of his control. He had no choice. "If London is going through with this no matter what, Hochstetter is going to blame me whether we follow these orders or not. So you might as well acknowledge them."

"That's what I thought too, sir. But maybe we can get your mother out in the chaos? If there's no power anywhere in the vicinity?"

Hogan nodded. "Yeah. That much we can do. But will it mean the end of our operation? That's what I can't figure."


	7. Chapter 7: This Porridge? Just Right

Hogan presented himself at the Commandant's office in his dress uniform, closely shaved, even sporting a new haircut. Newkirk, with all the aplomb of a High Street barber, had sat him down, thrown a sheet over his shoulders, and pulled out a professional pair of clippers. Hogan realized it was a little ludicrous wanting to look his best for his mother – the woman who had seen him covered in mud and worse, who had patched up his scrapes and hauled him to the emergency room when he'd broken various limbs – but he couldn't help himself.

Making his way across the compound, Hogan could smell that a storm was on the way. The wind was picking up, and it would be an uncomfortable night to make the hike to the Dusseldorf electric facility and to the bridge. Of course, the bad weather would give them cover, too – but he wished it would hold off until they were done.

His men were heading out on the mission without him. It wouldn't be the first time – but this time if felt particularly wrong. He knew he needed to stay close to camp, though. Not just to prove that he had nothing to do with the sabotage – though he doubted his actual presence would convince Hochstetter. But also because he needed to grab any chance that presented itself to get his mother down into the tunnel and out to safety.

As he walked into the small dining room in Klink's quarters, he was glad to see that his mom looked considerably less worn. The couple of hours of sleep had restored her. Her hair, which had straggled out of a bun at the back of her hair, was now loose, flowing to her shoulders. She was wearing clothes that Hogan recognized as part of Helga's wardrobe – a light blue blouse and darker skirt. They fit her trim figure nicely.

"Mom," he said, kissing her cheek and giving her a hearty hug.

"Rob," she replied, holding him close for a long moment.

Schultz, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, beamed at them. So, too, did LeBeau in his chef's hat, peeking into the room over the fat sergeant's shoulder. Klink stood near his decanter of schnapps, ready to pour them both a drink.

"Komandant, may I present my mother? Emily Hogan? Mom, this is Colonel Klink." Hogan hoped the charade of introducing them would ease any lingering tension. He needed them both to relax.

"Frau Hogan," Klink said enthusiastically, flourishing a hand in welcome.

"Colonel Klink," she responded tepidly.

"Come, come, have a drink and then we'll sit to this delicious dinner that Corporal LeBeau has prepared specially for you," Klink invited her. "This may be an unfortunate manner in which to have a family reunion, but we can celebrate it for this one evening, at least."

Hogan grinned. That was an unusually suave statement for Klink. Had he refined and practiced it in front of the mirror before they'd arrived? Hogan, who had seen him do so before, certainly wouldn't put it past him.

Conversation was brisk. While Emily Hogan was careful not to reveal anything too sensitive, she was still able to give her son a picture of what was happening back home. Some of the news was hard to hear – friends who had died in the war, a few who had returned home without limbs, sight, or hearing. Some of it was happy – marriages, babies, how everyone pitched in to support the war effort. Hogan was even more careful in his description of camp life, which of course Klink couldn't help interrupting with assurances that the prisoners were well fed, cared for, and not materially deprived in any way.

"Look at what fine fare we're eating, Frau Hogan!" he said, waving a forkful of meat loaf around. "You can't say we're starving anyone here at Stalag 13, can you?"

"It is very tasty, Kommandant," Emily replied, nodding toward the kitchen. "I've never had such delicious meat loaf before. Rob, you'll have to get the recipe for me."

Hogan suppressed a chuckle. With his first taste, he realized that there was no way even such a homey dish could impede the French chef's skills. The chopped meat was brilliantly seasoned, the mushroom soup garnish clearly made from scratch. The creamed potatoes were savory, with hints of sautéed garlic and onion. LeBeau had added honey glazed carrots to the plate, with shaved almonds. Hogan suspected that the apple pie LeBeau had promised to bake would be every bit a gourmet treat as the rest.

"I'm not sure LeBeau will surrender his secrets, Mom, but I'll ask," he said. Then he grinned at her, "I could always order him to."

"Frau Hogan, I would love to hear what the Colonel was like as a child," Klink said enthusiastically. "I imagine he was a handful back then."

Emily looked over at Hogan and he shook his head ever so slightly. No need to regale the Kommendant with the extravagant tales and tricks of his youth, some of which he had utilized now to befuddle the Germans. Even Klink might recognize some of the wilder ones.

"A handful, Kommandant? Why would you say that? No, no. He was always a good boy, my Rob."

"Well, of course, but…" Klink looked disappointed.

At just that moment the phone rang. Schultz answered. A flash of lightning lit up the room.

"Storm's coming," Hogan said aloud, knowing LeBeau would hear him.

"It's already here," Schultz said, as he handed the phone over to the Kommendant. "It's General Burkhalter, sir."

"General! How nice to…" Klink's immediate swarmy smile disappeared as he held the phone away from his ear. Burkhalter was bellowing at him.

"…absolutely no problem here! All a ruse! You will immediately put Frau Hogan into the…"

Another flash of lightning, followed by a loud clap of thunder. The room was plunged into darkness and the phone went dead.

"Hello? Hello? General?" Klink hung up. "We've lost power, it seems," he said, replacing the handset.

Hogan realized he had a unique opportunity. Not even Hochstetter could blame him and his men if they managed to cripple the Dusseldorf electrical grid now. Everyone would think that, at least, was an act of nature. And perhaps they might find a way to pretend the bridge's destruction was caused by lightning? It was a long shot, he knew, but it was a better chance than they'd had before the storm. He had to get his guys out there now.

"I think I need to go check on my men," he said. "I have a few who are scared of the dark. Better make sure they're okay. You permit, Kommandant? I'll come back for desert."

He saw his mother's eyebrows rise at that, but she had the presence of mind to keep quiet. Not so Klink.

"Afraid of the dark, Colonel Hogan? Really? I am constantly astonished at the cowardice of the Allied soldiers. No wonder we're winning the war."

"Yeah, no wonder," Hogan agreed affably. "I'll be right back."

He sauntered out of the room and into the dark compound. As soon as he was certain Klink wasn't watching, he broke into a run.

Bursting into the barracks, he was startled to find his men already changing into the dark clothes they used on a raid.

"We figured we might as well take advantage of the power outage, sir," Kinch said.

"I could have saved myself a run," Hogan panted, clapping his second in command on the shoulder, explaining his idea about the bridge.

"Simulate a lightning strike, Colonel?" Carter, as their demolition expert, asked. "I'm not sure…"

"A flash of light, somehow, Carter?"

"Hmmm… I have some flares that might work… okay, boy – sir!"

Hogan clapped him on the shoulder. "Carter, you and Newkirk take the bridge. Kinch, you okay to cut the power lines?"

They nodded.

"Be careful, guys. It's a rough night out there. And get back here as soon as you can – roll call is in two hours."

"We'll be back in plenty of time," Newkirk said.

"Yeah, this is a walk in the dark, sir. You know, dark? Instead of park?" Carter laughed.

Hogan shook his head. "Don't try to be clever, Carter – it doesn't suit you. I'm heading back. Burkhalter called, furious that there was no problem in Berlin. He got cut off before he could tell Klink what to do with my mother. If the power comes back before you get there…"

"We'll get there double time, sir," Kinch assured him.

"And maybe I'll cut the power to the camp on my way out, both electric and the phone lines," Carter added. "That way, there won't be a chance of him getting through."

Hogan nodded appreciably. "You've just proven me wrong, Andrew. You keep on being clever. It does suit you."

Hogan sat back down at the table, which was now festooned by candlelight. Schultz had waited for him to return before serving pie and coffee, carefully positioning the pie – which had a huge hunk removed – so that Klink didn't see the cut section. Hogan winked at him, slyly acknowledging that the hefty slice had found its way down the fat sergeant's gullet.

"I'm worried about what General Burkhalter was trying to say to me," Klink admitted. "Something about a ruse. And he mentioned you, Frau Hogan…"

Hogan rushed in to divert his thoughts. "How long do you think we'll be without power, Kommendant? I'm worried about my men."

"What – because they're afraid of the dark?" Klink mocked him.

"Well, that – and because some of them might use it as a chance to escape."

Klink sat up, settling his cup in his saucer with a clatter. "To escape?" He pushed out his chair, bellowing, "Langenscheidt!"

The corporal came in at a run. " _Jawohl_ , Herr Colonel?"

"Schultz, you stay here and guard Frau Hogan. Langenscheidt, you come with me. We're going to double the guard, make sure no one is wandering the compound in the dark. All the prisoners are to be confined to quarters!" Klink turned to Hogan. "That means you, too, Colonel!"

Hogan took a sip of coffee. "Surely, Kommandant, if Schultz is here, he can guard me as well as my mother."

"All right, all right," Klink muttered, clearly in a panic. "Schultz, you don't leave either of them for a moment. Your gun – where's your gun?"

LeBeau came out from the kitchen holding the rifle. "Here it is, Kommandant," he said.

Schultz grabbed it from him. "Cockroach…" he muttered, threateningly.

"Hey, it's not my fault if you leave it lying around my kitchen!"

"You!" Klink said, bundling himself into his coat. "Back to barracks!"

"But if LeBeau goes back to the barracks, Colonel, who's going to clean up? You don't want to come back to a stack of dishes, do you?"

Klink waved a hand irritably. "All right, all right – Schultz, you're in charge of all three of them."

" _Jawohl_ , Herr Kommandant!" Schultz said, looking very pleased at this turn of affairs. Hogan wondered if he were happier not to take part in the mad dash in the storm to secure the camp, or if he foresaw a pleasant evening gorging on leftovers and licking the insides of pans.

Klink ran out, and LeBeau gestured to Schultz. "Schultzie, come into the kitchen with me. I have some lovely treats for you there."

"But I have to guard all three of you," Schultz protested half-heartedly.

"Schultz, you have my word as an officer and a gentleman that I won't try to escape – and I won't let my mother try, either," Hogan assured him.

"LeBeau picked up the pie plate. Despite Schultz' earlier huge helping, there was still a good quarter left of it. "Schultzie, I'll give you some more of this if you come dry for me," the chef coaxed him.

"Oh, boy!" Schultz exclaimed like a little boy. He followed LeBeau into the kitchen without a backward glance. A second later, the kitchen door swung shut.

"Mom," Hogan said, moving closer to her. "We're going to get you out of here."

"I know, dear," she said, calmly.

"You know?"

"Rob, how stupid do you think your parents are? Do you think anything that Gestapo major said to me came as a surprise?"

Hogan had to laugh. "I sometimes wondered if you and Dad would figure it out. I would have told you if I could have, you know."

She reached up and patted his cheek. "Of course, Rob. Do you know how proud I am of you? How proud your father will be, when I tell him that we've been right all this time?"

"You can't tell anyone else, you know."

"Of course not."

"Okay, look. Klink will be back any second. I've almost got this figured out. When Klink comes back, tell him you need to go to bed. I'll come talk to you later tonight."

"Later tonight?" Emily Hogan looked startled. "How will you manage that?"

Hogan leaned over and gave her a kiss. "You'll see, Mom."


	8. Chapter 8: Mama Bear's not Abed

It was just past 1 AM. The men had returned just before roll call, and there had been a scramble to get them out of their black clothing and into uniform in time to line up. Hogan and LeBeau had worked together to delay Schultz' entering the barracks and calling for them all. The sergeant, sleepy after all the pie and other food scraps he'd been plied with, didn't resist too much, and as a result, they were lined up about five minutes late, Klink fuming on the steps as he tapped his boot impatiently.

The camp was still plunged into darkness. Kinch had arrived at the Dusseldorf electrical works before the men working there had managed to restore power – and had crippled the station to the extent that it would take at least until daybreak before the surrounding area had electricity. Newkirk and Carter had set off the flare right before blowing the bridge. Would anyone believe it was lightning? They would if Hogan had anything to do with it.

The sound of dull explosions in the distance had begun around midnight. The commandos must have parachuted in without mishap, and were performing their part of whatever the larger operation was. Hogan ticked off the possible targets in his head. The bridge into town. The railroad between Dusseldorf and Hammelburg. The road itself between the two cities. The ammo dump cleverly disguised in the Bad Kissingen woods. As soon as the explosions started, Hogan had made sure to head over to Klink's office, so there was no way to suspect that he had any part of this. He demanded that Schultz do an extra bed count.

"You can't blame us for whatever is going on out there, Kommandant," he'd asserted. "You're my witness that we're sitting here blamelessly in camp."

"Yes, yes, of course, Hogan," the commandant had replied sleepily. He'd already been in bed when the noise erupted. "No one can blame you."

Satisfied, Hogan let him fall back asleep. He knew Hochstetter would be much less easily swayed – but he hoped to get his mother out of camp long before the general and major returned from Berlin.

Waiting for the explosions to calm down and peace to return to camp, Hogan disappeared down the tunnel to come up into the VIP hut, through the iron stove. As he poked his head up out of the tunnel, he saw his mother was sitting up, serenely waiting for him.

"Hi, Mom," he said in a quick whisper, as he walked over to check that no one was outside.

"That's a clever place to put the entrance to a tunnel," she said, getting up to peer down into the hole. "Does it lead to underneath your barracks?"

As usual, Emily Hogan remained unfazed. He had always loved that about her. Growing up, he had tested limits almost constantly, and realized that it was because she had been so imperturbable that his childhood had not devolved to a constant state of tension. His father had less patience for Hogan's brand of juvenile hi-jinks. But Mom could rarely be rocked out of her composure. It made him oddly glad for a fleeting moment that it was she, rather than his father, who had been taken hostage.

"It does," he told her. Then he did a double take. In the dim light, he'd barely noticed her pajamas. He suffered a little bit of revulsion, realizing that Colonel Klink had loaned her a pair of his.

Emily saw his sudden stiffening and grinned. "You wanted me to go to bed in my slip, son? It's too cold here for that."

Hogan let out a pent-up breath. "That's an image that will take awhile to forget. You in Klink's pajamas? Ugh." He shuddered. "Not that it matters. I'm getting you out of here tonight."

"You're not," she said calmly. "I've been doing some thinking, Rob. I heard all the explosions around here tonight. Did you have something to do with that?"

"Not all of it. Well, we helped, a little. My guys blew a bridge and we helped out by extending the black out. But nature lent us a hand there."

"I see," Emily looked thoughtful. "But that awful Gestapo major will blame you, anyway, right? And if I disappear from camp, won't they figure you had something to do with it?"

"That's a chance we'll just have to take," Hogan said, starting to get a little annoyed. Civilians! Even if she were his mother. He knew she meant well, but she needed to just trust him.

"And then – won't they shoot you as a spy?"

Hogan hesitated for a moment. "That's always been a possibility, Mom. I signed up for that when they stationed me here."

"Of course – but not because of me, they won't."

He stared at her. She looked immovable. He knew that once she made up her mind about something, he rarely if ever managed to change it. Usually if someone opposed one of his plans, he'd find a way to sway them. But that wouldn't happen with her. He sighed. He'd have to think of another way – and fast, before they could haul her off to Berlin and the interrogation chamber.

On the way to Berlin. That was probably the best plan. Out of camp, while he was in plain sight of the Kommandant. Get the underground involved. Someone trustworthy, who would take good care of her. Yes, that would work.

"Okay, Mom, not tonight, then," he capitulated. "But soon." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" she cried. "You can't go now. I want to hear all about it – every detail."

He laughed. Taking hold of her hand, he helped her to her feet.

"Let me show you, then," he said, moving her to the tunnel entrance. "If you want."

She nodded. "Of course I do."

Then he stopped and stared at her again. "Just do me a favor. Get changed first."

HH-HH-HH

He took her down through the tunnel into the main area. He saw how her eyes widened as she saw the brightly lit space, the torches burning in their sconces, the clean, organized area.

Kinch, sitting at the radio, rose to his feet deferentially. "Mrs. Hogan," he said, doffing his cap.

"You're Sergeant Kinchloe, aren't you?" she asked.

He looked gratified that she knew who he was. "Yes, ma'am. It's an honor to meet you, ma'am."

Emily shook her head. "Nonsense. I'm the one who is honored. What are you doing down here, anyway? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Always the mother, huh, Mom?" Hogan laughed. "Kinch is our radio-man. He's often down here in the middle of the night, waiting for London to contact us."

"You can contact London? Rob, could you tell your father…?"

"Already done. I don't think they told him how they knew, but they let him know you're safe and alive."

Emily let out a long breath of relief.

Kinch showed her the radio and some of the other equipment they used. Emily's face lit up as she took in the underground manufactory, the rack of civilian clothing, the weapons and ammunition. "I never dreamed this was such an enormous operation," she said. "Rob, how in the world did you ever manage all of this?"

"I have a good team," he said.

"Can you show me where you live? The barracks? I want to be able to tell your father about it."

He led her upstairs. The men were asleep, so he took her arm and moved her into his office. He'd taken a candle from the VIP hut, which he lit once he'd shut his door. He was glad for the dim light – the spare barracks looked less stark and terrible than usual.

Even so, he could see she wasn't happy with the conditions. Flitting around quietly, she felt the draught through the holes in the walls and roof, the thin mattress, the rough blanket.

"It's okay," he whispered, keeping his voice down so he wouldn't wake the men. "It's only for the duration."

She sat on the lower bunk and patted the bed. He sat down next to her, then, almost as though he was a boy again, cradled his head in her lap. She stroked his head soothingly.

"How do you do it, Rob?" she asked quietly, a choke in her voice. "Taking care of all the men, planning all the missions? If even half of what that horrible Hochstetter told me is true…"

"It's true," he said. "All of it. More even."

"…then you are putting yourself in danger every day. How can you stand it?"

He felt himself tensing. She moved a hand from his hair to his check, rubbing gently.

"I don't think about it most days," he told her, soothed by the motion. "And you mustn't think about it when you go home. You mustn't let Dad think about it. I'll be fine, Mom. You know me. When have I not managed to get myself out of trouble?"

"You certainly got yourself into it, often enough," she admitted. "But even so, Rob, that was nothing compared to…."

He sat up abruptly. He had survived this assignment, this mission, by taking it day by day, some days minute by minute. He couldn't allow anyone – not even her – to derail all his efforts to cordon off the fear, to tamp down how terrifying some of what he had to do was. How difficult it was to subject his men to the danger, every day, when any day could mean their death – or worse.

"I need to get you back to bed," he said.

He was close enough, even in the dim light, to see the understanding creep into her eyes.

"All right," she murmured, reaching up and pushing back some of his hair in a motion that brought him right back to his childhood.

But just then, the door burst open and his men crowded inside.

"Guv'nor!" Newkirk said. "Hochstetter just drove into the compound!"


	9. Chapter 9: Caught in the Spider's Web

"We need to get you back to your room," Hogan said urgently.

"There's no time, Colonel," LeBeau said. "He's already heading into the VIP hut."

"Then we'll take her down to the tunnel. Get her out and back to England. Mom, you'll wait there until…"

"I will not," she said, squaring her shoulders.

"That's an…" he snapped, then stopped short, realizing what he was about to say.

She knew it, too. She reached up, patted his cheek lovingly. "Oh, Rob. Sweetie, you can't give me orders."

"Mom!" he blurted. "I won't be able to do what I have to do, not if they hurt you every time I do…."

She put both hands on his elbows, preventing him from crossing them over his chest. She could always tell when he was taking refuge behind those crossed arms. "Now you listen to me, Robert Edward Hogan," she said, fiercely. She turned to his men. "And you as well, all of you. What you're doing is too important. You will not stop it because of me. Am I clear, son?"

"But…"

"Am I clear?"

Hogan nodded, reluctantly, surrendering hopelessly to the no-nonsense tone of voice that turned him instantly back into a little boy.

She turned and looked at the others. "Gentlemen. Am I clear?"

If he hadn't felt so wretched, Hogan would have laughed at the awe written across all their faces.

"Yes, ma'am," Carter said, straightening up.

" _Oui_ , Madame Hogan," LeBeau said, with a little bow. Newkirk just nodded.

"Good. And you'll take good care of my boy, all of you, right?" she whispered.

"We will, Mrs. Hogan," Kinch said softly.

"That's a promise," LeBeau added, putting a fervent hand on his chest.

There was the sound of pounding jackboots. The door was flung open. Hochstetter burst in, followed by armed Gestapo guards, and then a slightly befuddled looking Klink, wearing his dressing gown.

"Frau Hogan!" Hochstetter cried. "How did you get here?"

"How did I get here, Major?" she responded, cold as ice. "You brought me here. Picked me up from the streets of London and abducted me. Have you forgotten?"

"Bah! I mean here, in Hogan's barracks?"

"I walked over from the VIP hut," she said, sounding slightly confused. Hogan wanted to kiss her. She was playing him just right. "How else would I get here?"

"Klink!" Hochstetter bellowed. "Is this your famed security? Letting prisoners wander around the compound?"

"No, of course not," Klink stuttered. "She said she was still tired, asked to go to bed…."

"You nincompoop! And you believed her?"

"But I _was_ tired, Major," Emily Hogan retorted. "It was just that I woke up about a half hour ago and realized I would never get a better chance to see where my son lived. So I took a little walk."

"A little walk?!" Hochstetter looked like he was about to have an apoplectic fit. "Don't you know that you can't do that when you're a prisoner?"

"Hey!" Hogan cried, his tone rising, deliberately indignant. "Don't you yell at her! How was she to know what the rules are for a prisoner, when she's never been one before?"

The rest of the POWs chimed in, an unintelligible mutter of incensed rejoinders.

"Klink!" Hochstetter screamed above their shouting. "What is this man…?"

"Doing here, Major?" Hogan smirked, waving a hand to quiet his men. "You seem to be having trouble remembering things this evening, aren't you? This is where I live."

Hochstetter's mouth opened, then slammed shut. He breathed heavily in and out through his nose. Then he waved a hand toward Emily Hogan. "Put her in my staff car," he ordered one of the guards. "I'm taking her to Berlin right now."

Hogan started to step forward as the guard gripped Emily's arm, but his men pulled him back.

"Rob," Emily said, with such love that Hogan felt his heart turn over, then grow ice cold. She blew him a kiss.

He was so torn by emotion that he barely noticed the tiny Frenchman slip out and sneak into the trunk of Hochstetter's car, or that Carter had moved around to the opposite side of the car, where the gas tank was.

"As for you," Hochstetter sneered, "Don't think I don't know that you were behind all of the sabotage that happened around the camp tonight. Don't think for an instant that your mother won't pay for it."

"Me?" Hogan squeaked, with another calculated pretense of indignation. "Klink, tell him. I was here all night. I came to you to complain about the noise, didn't I?"

"I'm not a stupid fool," Hochstetter said. "Not like your beloved Kom-man-dant."

"Hey!" Klink cried out. "You can't call me a fool!"

Hochstetter stomped a foot to silence him. "You can't hoodwink _me_ , Hogan. She's going to pay for tonight's little bout of mischief. That's a promise, Colonel."

Hogan searched for something to say, but his words had dried up, together with his lips and throat.

Emily looked behind her as they led her off. "I love you, Rob," she called.

Hogan's hands gripped, forming white-knuckled fists. Newkirk and Kinch stood on either side, ready to grab hold if he tried to charge the Germans herding his mother to the staff car. But he realized there was no way to help her. Not then. Not yet.


	10. Chapter 10: Another Bedtime Story

Hogan watched as the car drove out of the main gates. Carter, smelling faintly of gasoline, stepped up to him.

"They won't get that far, boy – I mean, sir. I siphoned off about half of the petrol before they got her into the car."

"And my little buddy is in the trunk, Colonel," Newkirk said, soothingly. "He'll be able to get word to us about where they'll stop."

"Once we know, I'll get reinforcements from the Underground. We'll be able to get her out then," Kinch added. "You don't need to worry, Colonel. He won't get a chance to hurt her."

Hogan clapped Carter on the shoulder. "Quick thinking, all of you. Carter, if you had to guess…?"

"Maybe Dusseldorf, Colonel. No further than that."

Newkirk looked the floor. "Sir, if I could make a personal comment?"

Hogan glanced at the Englishman, eyebrows raised. He wasn't usually hesitant to say what was on his mind. "What is it, Newkirk?"

"Your mum's really something, guv'nor. I mean that."

"Yeah," Carter said. "Never saw anybody ever shut you up so quickly, boy." At Hogan's quick stare, he corrected, "I mean, sir."

"They're right, Colonel," Kinch concurred. "She's really amazing."

Hogan's wry laugh was tinged with anxiety. "Thanks, fellas. I'll tell her you said so."

HH-HH-HH

An hour later, LeBeau called in. "We ran out of gas just before we got to Dusseldorf, Colonel. This being the middle of the night, they had no choice but to walk into town. No gas stations open now, of course. I followed them – no, no one saw me."

"So where are you now?" Hogan asked.

"At the Kaiserhoff. Listen, I managed to sneak in and heard the major order some coffee. Lola, from the Underground, is on the front desk tonight. So I stole some sleeping pills from the dispensary in the lobby and told her to pop them inside the coffee pot. He was in a foul mood and spent a lot of the walk grumbling at how this was all her fault, so with luck, he won't offer any to your _maman_. But he should sleep for hours."

"Great work, LeBeau! We're on our way."

HH-HH-HH

Hogan, dressed in a Gestapo captain's uniform, discovered from Lola that Hochstetter was in Room 34. He walked in, moving confidently past the drowsing guard as though he belonged there, to see the major sprawled on the bed, snoring; his mother secured to a wood chair by handcuffs.

"What _are_ you wearing?" she burst out.

Alarmed, he took a swift glance toward the sleeping figure on the bed.

She laughed. "I think he got drugged, somehow. I tried yelling at him and he didn't stir."

"LeBeau dropped sleeping pills into the coffee," Hogan told her.

"How in the world…?"

"He climbed in the car's trunk before Hochstetter took off. Look, I'll explain all this later. Let's get you out of here."

Hogan stepped outside. "Guard!" he ordered. "My aide is downstairs. Get him! _Mach schnell!_ "

The guard hustled off, bringing Newkirk back with him.

"We'll take charge of the prisoner," Hogan told him. "You can go off to bed."

"But the major…."

Hogan straightened up, stepping toward the guard menacingly. "Are you disobeying a direct command, corporal?"

The corporal swallowed hard. "No, sir. Thank you sir." He practically ran down the hallway.

"That's him sorted," Newkirk chortled, striding into the room. "Ah, what have we here? I'll have you out of those cuffs in a tick, Mrs. Hogan." Pulling a small pick from an inner pocket, he quickly jimmied open the handcuffs.

"Ah!" she said, gratefully rubbing her sore wrists.

"Let's go," Hogan said. He led her out into the hall.

"Rob, that uniform," she persisted. "It really doesn't suit you. It's going to take me awhile to get over the shock of seeing you walk into the room, wearing it."

Newkirk laughed. "You should see Carter in a Field Marshall's get-up, Mrs. Hogan."

"We wear what we need to wear to get the job done," Hogan said, distractedly. His face had turned hard. He turned to Newkirk, snapping, "Take her down to the car. I'll be right there."

Turning back to Room 34, he pulled his pistol out of a side holster.


End file.
